Snowflakes
by Shinri Ayase
Summary: AU. Every once in a while, you find someone more like you than you could ever imagine...


Disclaimers: These characters, I own not. 

Author's Notes: AU, not set in Kanagawa. And perhaps a little weird, if you look at it a certain way. SenKosh, of course. Dedicated to the SenKosh MLers - Happy Holidays, minna!

Snowflakes by Shinri Ayase

It was over in five seconds.

My precious hamburger was forced to die a horrible death, landing on our school director's head. I could actually see it dripping, taunting me.

It's cold, I'm hungry, and I won't be home for another three and a half hours - and that's if I'm lucky to escape director Taoka.  
It's all. His. Fault.

I could kill him with my bare hands right now...only, I'm too weak with hunger. But as soon as we get home I'll...

"Kooooooooosh! Gomeeeeeeen! Here, you can have half my club sandwich..."

...sigh let him have first dibs on the bathroom.

Maybe I should go back a bit and explain the how and why of my currently deceased burger. To do that, I have to explain WHY, in all that's good and right and sensible in this world, I found myself on the rooftop (my haven) with Sendo Akira - someone I deem to be the last person on earth I'd get along with.

It all started with the organization of an art exhibit last fall. Of course, what with Ikegami-sempai being our club president, he left me, the vice president, in charge. He, in the meantime, cavorted (yes, "cavorted" would be the only appropriate term for what he had done) with his ten girlfriends and six boyfriends who knew nothing of the existence of the others. In my opinion, they're groupies, all of them. Hanging around the artistic types the way they do...

But I digress. Ikegami-san left me in charge, meaning I was the one who had to make the necessary arrangements for the gallery of our choice - on top of having to organize all the featured pieces, I had to finish five pieces of my own.

A week before the said event, I found myself at the hosting gallery, frantically arranging paintings, sculptures and mixed media art. I had three unfinished paintings, and my nerves were beyond frazzled.

And then, he strode in. As if he owned the place. He stared at the displays in gaping awe, sincere and pure and truly delighted. "Oh, wow!" he exclaimed. "Are you an artist?"

I thought I was hallucinating. No one was supposed to be there, except for me. Still, I thought that any conversation that would keep me awake must be good - even if it meant I was completely out of my mind, talking to a weird imaginary person who would ask a person in a gallery if he was an artist.

"Yeah," I muttered distractedly as I hefted a particularly heavy piece by Fukuda entitled "Thieving Ant Bastard" (a splash of red with mint green against a midnight blue background accentuated by streaks of watered down periwinkle). "But most of these aren't mine. They're made by my clubmates."

For the next five minutes, he was quiet, contentedly looking through the paintings. However, he had a very distracting grin on his face.  
"What are you grinning at?" I finally had to ask.

"I know which ones you made!" he cheered happily as he pointed at me with the energy of a thunderbolt. "You made the mixed media one with the smooth lapis lazuli blue paper mache of a face resting on a pair of hands against the prussian blue-veined egg background on canvas and the painting of the elemental representing all the states of water."

I stared at him slack-jawed for a moment, and asked, you know that?"

He grinned, said nothing to me for approximately five seconds (during which he seemed to search my face), and then said, with profound simplicity: "I like lemons. You like the color blue. No two snowflakes have the same pattern."

And then he helped me arrange the paintings (I swear to god, this boy has a good eye for art). He chattered incessantly about lemons and sports and art and music and anything else he could think of. At that point, I knew I couldn't have imagined him. He was too...unique. And cheerful. None of my imaginary friends (including Hammy, the Skydiving Hamster) had been this unreasonably happy. What's more, this guy was...touchy-feely. My personal space was violated, and I had the feeling that he could violate my personal space even if he were in the next apartment - a fact I later confirmed.

In any case, I decided I had to go home and told him so. Strangely enough, he clapped his hands and followed me out.

Somewhere by the door were two large bags, which he promptly picked up.  
Twenty minutes later, he stood at my doorstep, smiling like a loon and asking: "By the way...can I move in with you?"

Up until this day, I curse the kindness with which my parents raised me. Of course I had to feel sorry and say yes, had to offer him some space in my apartment, share a bathroom with him (which he promptly cluttered with hair care products), give in to those baby blues. I wish he hadn't been right when he said I liked the color blue. It seems to be the clincher of this entire deal. Those blue eyes, unlike any shade I've ever seen before.

They're like...snowflakes. Not cold, but cool, crisp, inviting, playful...not biting at all. Just very...refreshing. Except when they melt, THEN, they're annoying as hell. Cold and murky and making your socks squish against your toes, your clothes heavy and sticky, your hair clumped unattractively.

But...until they melt, they're...

"And so I said, 'The Art Club could make a Christmas mural on the white wall at the lobby of the high school building for the Holiday Fair!' and they said that's a great idea so they're asking Ikegami-sempai right now.

I would have throttled him, but as it is, I need him right now. I'd just been fired from my part-time job, and the baka apparently has rich parents who could more than afford the dump we had come to know as our home (which makes me wonder: why did he want to move in with me?). Besides, I still haven't thanked him for the lunch.

On the other hand, WHAT THE HELL IS HE THINKING?! Doesn't he realize that Ikegami-sempai leaves me to do all the grunt work? And the rest of the club is worse! None of them are cooperative at all! It'll be hell trying to get them to work on a communal canvas. They each want their own, their individual selves outweighing the rest of society.  
It shouldn't be a bad thing, but sometimes...

"Kosh? Is there anything wrong?"

And there he goes, with his annoyingly charming personality and his arm draping around me. There's a one-millimeter vertical wrinkle smack dab between his eyebrows. Most people have two wrinkles. Why the heck does he have only one?

"Kosh?"

Oh. Right.

"It's just..." should I crush his hopes? Telling him he had a bad idea is like telling a puppy he's going to get spayed...

Okay, bad mental image, but you get what I mean.

Maybe I should tell him...gently.

"Ehrm...well...the club's...not very sociable, Akira. And we like our...liberties."

"Oh, we don't mind that most of you are gay."

THE HELL?!

"Sendo Akira, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Artistic types. Most of them are gay. The rest of the world hates them for it, so they prefer to keep to themselves. You know, to have a sense of liberty from the restrictions of the norm."

Breathe, Hiroaki. Breathe.

"That's...not what I meant."

"I know."

WHAT?!

"Then why did you...?"

"Look! It's SNOWING!"

And just like that, the conversation ended.

I need an aspirin.

Five days have passed since the death of my burger and Sendo's Big Idea. I have since held a small, quiet funeral for my martyred foodstuff (really, landing on School Director Taoka's head..) and received vague and unhelpful instructions from Ikegami-sempai. The rest of the Art Club seem to have disappeared, leaving me alone to undertake this bloody gargantuan task (which we shall all take credit for).

Sendo was nice enough to stay up with me while I worked out the plans for the wall. He's always nice, now that I think about it. Always willing to help, always supportive, always...

Always THERE. WATCHING.

Oh. My. God.

I never thought about it, but it's really creepy, isn't it? He keeps looking at me, smiling at me, almost...almost STUDYING me.

Is he some kind of stalker? Or pervert? What if he's a psycho? Is he going to try to RAPE me?

I can't believe I actually thought that. Get your mind out of the gutter, Koshino Hiroaki. And for heaven's sake, calm down. Sendo just likes examining things, is all. He has the artist's eye. He takes in every detail, takes an interest in them as much as he takes an interest in the actual personalities of people.

I...sometimes, I wish I were like that. Finding the essence of things by immersing myself in them.

But I can't. I was never trained to be that way. I was molded in such a way that I could only objectify a subject, critically dissect something to be able to truly touch it. Sendo...Sendo embraces things...and lets them grow, expand into something greater than mere tangibles.

I wonder why he never tries art?

"Mou...I'm hungry," his voice declares. "Want some cookies?"

Only he could pull off the seemingly off-tangent sentences without the risk of my patented throttling.

"I guess so. But only if we have coffee, too."

"Yay! Coffee! Cookies! They both start with 'C'!"

I could only shake my head. He always says silly things like that. I should get used to it. Besides...I think he only says things like that to get my mind off the serious things.

I finished applying the primer on the wall, and lay down on the floor to rest and think. So many ideas for the wall, and I can't use them all.

SHOULD it be a mural, though? Could it be a big painting instead? And what to use...?

"You know, I think we should try using acricolor."

I sit up to look at him, while he holds up the coffee and cookies from the 24-hour cafe right across the street.

"We?" I quirk an eyebrow. "Are you actually going to help me work on this?"

"Well...I DID get you into this mess..." He actually looks sheepish. I actually feel bad for teasing him.

"You know, Akira, you don't have to..."

"But I do! I ran away, Kosh, I really shouldn't have, and this is the only way I could get it back."

What's this all about?

"What's this all about?"

"I...nothing." He smiles again, radiantly. "Let me help you. Please."

There could only be one answer to that. He didn't even have to use those eyes.

It turned out...beautiful. I couldn't believe it. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

The entire wall had been painted an exquisite midnight blue, and at the center was a pale blue figure with translucent golden brown wings embracing it (Sendo painted the wings - I'm not quite sure how he managed that on such a large scale, but I never question talent), legs tucked up, chin resting on its knees. Above him is a luminescent diamond star (I mixed white with silver and gold - it came out really well), and falling from its crossed palms are two white snowflakes. Sendo and I agreed that we should each design a snowflake, and it turned out really well.

The strange thing is...well, our snowflakes look really similar. Sure, there were variations, but otherwise...

The only comment he has about it is: "Well, we must be soulmates!"

Ch. I wish.

I watch as he picked up some gauze and secured it over the head of a can of silver spraypaint. Standing back a couple of feet, he sprayed randomly all over the mural, giving it a misty look. He looks...different when he's working. Like his mind is clearer. The way he's spraying is so intense...so...manly.

Manly? What kind of description is that?!

It must be the paint fumes. I'm starting to go crazy again.

"Done!"

I eyed the piece critically and nod my head. Nothing more could be done to improve it.

Sendo Akira is brilliant.

Which makes me wonder...

"Ne...how come you didn't join the Art Club? You do really good work. And I can tell it isn't the first time you've done something like this. So why..?"

"I...didn't know WHAT to do," he interrupts. "My works were starting to sell for really high prices, and all they wanted me to do was attend parties and galleries and rub elbows with people who aren't being themselves.

"I didn't know what to paint anymore. I had to get away. Otouchan and Okaachan were very supportive - they decided to send me to a nondescript school in Japan, so I won't have to feel the pressure of being a famous artist. And I decided to stop painting, so no one would bother me.

"But I can't get away from it, Kosh. I saw your work at that gallery and wanted to do art again. Actually, I was supposed to stay with the curator of that place, but I wanted to be close to such a brilliant mind, so I followed you instead.

"You...understood how to show your feelings, no matter how painful. You like the color blue, and use it as much as you can. I never showed myself in my paintings before...and I'm learning, I think.

"You're...a beautiful person, Kosh. Like a snowflake. People think you're simple, but you're beautiful and interesting."

I love him.

I am in love with him, that silly, flighty, funny, flaky, touchy-feely guy.

And he...he...

Loves me. He doesn't even have to say.

"I...I'm...Kosh I...thinkIloveyou!"

He said it anyway.

He looks like he's about to run away.

Well, I can't let him do that, can I?

I reach out, squeeze his hand, weave my fingers with his, and step closer. Baka.

His lips...

"Oi, you need help?"

Damn you, Fukuda!

"NO!"

He blinked at us, shrugged, and walked out.

"Fine. But you guys are just making out there."

"You!!!"

I could only sigh in exasperation. As I turn back around, I expected to see Akira laughing at the entire exchange.

Except...

He was gone.

I could kill Fukuda right about now.

It's been a year since that night. I remember getting back to my apartment to find him gone. All his things, gone. Like he never lived there in the first place. No evidence of him whatsoever. I have nothing of his left with me, save for that mural (thankfully, no one had the heart to paint over it).

He could have left me with a note. But nothing, no explanation was given. He just up and went.

Damn him. Playing me like that.

Or maybe it really was Fukuda's fault, for ruining things for us.  
Either way, Akira had gone away that night. And I never found out if he understood that I love him too. Never heard from him either, just a few news articles about such-and-such exhibits in varying countries. I saw samples of his works over the internet, too.

Apparently, I'd been living with a true prodigy.

Still, it's not the prodigy I fell in love with. It was the moron who kept waking me up to watch the snow fall, the one who brought me coffee exactly when I needed it, the one who knew just by looking which paintings were mine.

They say that there's no use crying over spilt milk. But hell, I happened to love that milk, and now I sound like a lunatic.

Anyway, I was lucky this year. We actually got freshmen who were willing to work. And the gallery was postponed until the Christmas season, just to hit two birds with one stone.

Of course, we have to share the show with some of the best holiday work by some of the most prestigious artists in the world (the curator likes us, and thinks that our works are worthy of being displayed with the best).

Which leads us to where I am at the moment.

I'm at the gallery, where I first met Sendo Akira, drinking something mildly alcoholic and talking to high-end people. The rest of the club was milling about, having the time of their lives (especially Ikegami-sempai, who's still an honorary member -.-;;). The exhibit, as far as I can see, is making a big splash. The curator actually said that we hold a lot of promise.

Fukuda was really happy about that, and even made an attempt at being sociable.

I'd be happy too, except...I haven't really seen all the works displayed. The freshies insisted on doing all the work, and I know that I really should try appreciating their efforts.

What else can I do but slip away? It's not as if the conversation is really interesting. Who wants to listen to a man talking about the history of PAINT?

So I walk around...and I have to say, I've trained my minions well.  
Everything is well-organized, and the distribution of both amateur and professional pieces is perfectly balanced...

Oh. My. God.

I have to see this up close.

They're...magnificent. One of the paintings is mine - the one with the brown-gold background and specks of silver-blue curving upwards. The other is someone else's - the one with the silver-blue background with golden brown spatter curving downwards.

Displayed side by side, perfect negatives of each other.

I look at the title of my painting's almost-twin, and stared.

It was...the same title as mine.

"Snowflake..."

And it was signed by Sendo Akira.

I drop my drink and go straight for the curator. Collaring him, I ask if Sendo Akira is in town, and left for the door before he could answer.

Maybe that wasn't such a good idea, but I don't care.

"Snowflake..."

It's a sign! We're meant to be! And we will be together, even if that means I have to break his legs!

And then I hit something, sending me to the floor.

Yeah, sure. Brilliant, Hiroaki. You forgot to OPEN THE FREAKING DOOR.

I open my eyes and groan.

Until I see a pair of stunning blues.

"Hi! Did that hurt?"

THE HELL?

"Baka! What do you mean, 'did it hurt'?! Of course it hurt!"

"I'm sorry," he grins sheepishly. "I guess I wasn't looking."

I could only reach up to frame his face.

Thank GOD! He's not a hallucination!

"Well, look harder, baka."

"Nah," he murmurs. "I can see perfectly, now."

And he kisses me.

Like the brushing of snowflakes.

"That's what I call performance art," a snide voice booms from inside.

Damn that Fukuda. I should kill him.

But...not right now.

"Look, Akira. The snow is falling."

END


End file.
